


The "Loft"

by EtchJetty



Series: Etch's Sketches - A One-Shot Collection [2]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, The Room (2003)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Gen, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtchJetty/pseuds/EtchJetty
Summary: In which Tommy Wiseau achieves his dreams through copious amounts of shard fuckery.





	The "Loft"

**Author's Note:**

> After one too many “oh hai, lisa”s I realized the Wormverse has a Lisa of their own. And a Mark, and a Denny, and a Chris, and... enjoy the 4.7k word shitpost.

**  
The "Loft"  
or  
Tommy Wiseau achieves his dreams through copious amounts of shard fuckery**

\---------------------------------------------------------

>   
> Lisa was sitting alone on the couch in the loft, working on her notes, when she heard footsteps.
> 
> _One set of footsteps. Footsteps heavy. Dress shoes. Not Bitch. Gait too long for Alec. Not Brian. Different pair of dress shoes. Cheap dress shoes from thrift store.  
> _  
>  Focus, power, Lisa cursed herself as she tried to direct it back towards the identity of the stranger.
> 
> _Not the boss. Not police. No one I’ve ever met.  
> _  
>  That got Lisa’s attention. She closed her laptop and sat up. Somehow, the stranger had keys to the loft. The door opened, and a man stepped in. Lisa got up off the couch.
> 
> “Hi, babe! I have something for you.”
> 
> The stranger had long, wet-looking black hair. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit, with a long tie hanging loosely off his neck. Lisa walked over to him, smiling, consulting her power.  
>  _  
> Expression relaxed. Seems to think he’s been here before. Not a cape. Has a present. Present meaningful to him. Present for me. Present is in a box with tissue paper behind his back. Present is clothing. Present is a red dress. It is not my size. Size is large. Generic packaging. Purchased in mall. Purchased for $2-_
> 
> Lisa cut off her power. Who the hell was this man and what was he doing in the loft? How did he get keys? He stared at her, expectantly.
> 
> _Is waiting for me to say something specific. Thinks he has known me for a long time. Not a cape. Not actively hostile._
> 
> Not a threat? Then there should be no harm in playing along for a bit.
> 
> “What is it?” asked Lisa.
> 
> “Just a little something,” smiled the stranger. He had a strange accent. Also, the words he formed with his mouth didn’t match what he was saying. Ominous.  
>  _  
> Not foreign accent. Totally American accent. New Orleans accent._
> 
> What the hell? Lisa knew what a New Orleans accent sounded like, and that wasn’t it. The paradox was giving her a headache. Lisa made sure to seal the walls around her power a little tighter. She made a move to reach for the box behind his back. He playfully bent and moved away from her, placing the box just away from her grasp. What was this guy on? Offering her a present and not giving it to her?  
> She reached for the box again, and he moved away one more time. Determined, she reached for it a third time, and he brought it out in front of her. The box was extremely ugly, with a cheetah-print gift wrap and a big red bow. Lisa opened the box to find a red dress, just as her power had told her.
> 
> Involuntarily, Lisa smiled at him. “Johnny, it’s beautiful. Thank you. Can I try it on now?”
> 
> Ok, that’s different. Why did she just say that? How did she know his name? Was she being mastered? She seemed to still have control over her power, so she brought down some of the walls, focusing on details about “Johnny”.  
>  _  
> Not a cape. Not foreign. Your fiance. Not a cape. Not-_
> 
> What the fucking fuck? Lisa didn’t know who the hell this guy was, but he definitely was _not_ her fiance. She’d never met the man before in her life! She was _sixteen_ , for chrissake! The rising panic was threatening to overtake her. She was going to say something, any words of protest at all, but the words wouldn’t come. And her head was pounding.
> 
> “Johnny” responded, smiling, “Sure, it’s yours.”
> 
> Lisa smiled at “Johnny”. “Wait right here,” she said, as she took the dress, grabbed his tie and casually kissed him. If Lisa still had the free will to vomit, she was sure she would have done so. “I’ll try it on right now.” Lisa strolled to her room, opened the door, and entered it. As soon as she did, she could feel whatever effect she was under disappear. She stared at the dress in her hands. To her, it seemed like she only really had one option.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Alec didn’t know what to expect after he got Lisa’s panicked text, but it certainly wasn’t this. Lisa was in a red dress, flirting with a creepy-looking guy he’d never seen before. All of the sudden, he had a nearly irresistible urge to look at them, smile, and say, “oh, hey guys.” Trying a trick he had learned years ago, he tried to Master his own body. He felt another presence there. Well, shit. Alec wondered if he could just overpower the presence if he tried hard enough.
> 
> “Oh hey, guys,” he heard himself say. There goes that idea.
> 
> The creepy guy looked at him lazily, and said, “Oh, hi Denny.” Alec felt himself make a beeline for the creepy guy before turning suddenly to look at Lisa. “Wow,” he heard himself say. “Look at you.” Ugh, being Mastered like this was humiliating. And he would know.
> 
> Lisa smiled at him and said, “It’s from Johnny.” Johnny. That was his name? Alec was going to say something, before he heard the guy (who was sitting on their _couch_ , hands behind his head) call Lisa his princess, and laugh. Wait a minute. Was this guy their boss? It would make a sort of sense, maybe, if he was Mastering Lisa into accepting to do those god-fucking-awful jobs they’d been doing recently. Alec was so focused on this line of thinking he didn’t even realize he was supposed to have said something until Lisa responded, saying, “Denny, don’t ask a question like that.” _My name isn’t Denny_ , thought Alec. _It may not be Alec, but it sure as fuck isn’t Denny_.
> 
> The creepy guy - no, Johnny - stood up. He said something, but Alec was focused on the little imperfections in the man’s face. He was saying things that didn’t line up with his face, as if he was a dubbed animatronic. Was this guy a projection? How was someone Mastering both him and Lisa and projecting an admittedly horrific farce at humanity at the same time?
> 
> It was at this moment Alec realized his left arm was completely within his own bodily control. He did the first logical thing he could think of and clocked the guy in front of him in the chin. Johnny reacted overdramatically, leaning far back as he took the impact of the punch. As he got back up, Johnny slowly turned to look at him. Really look at him, for the first time. His face was contorted in rage, fury, and confusion? Johnny’s clothes were flickering, too. His jacket disappeared, along with his tie, and his shirt changed colors to a darker navy. He looked at Lisa, who seemed to be more in control of her body than before. Unfortunately, this meant she was crumpled over, barely able to stand. He raised his hands in the air, and shouted what Alec thought was probably the strangest thing to say in reaction to the situation.
> 
> “ _You are tearing me apart, Lisa!_ ”
> 
> Then Johnny’s clothes flickered again. He walked over to a window, picked up a CRT TV ( _wait, we don’t have a CRT-_ ) and threw it through the window, screaming. Lisa and Alec moved to shield themselves from the glass. When they looked up, he was gone. Wide-eyed, Lisa and Alec stared, first at the window, then at each other.
> 
> “Agree to never speak about this again, to anyone?” spoke Lisa, quietly.  
> “Not to another living soul,” agreed Alec.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> It was a normal lunch at the Dallon household. In the dining room, Amy Dallon sat at one end of the table, munching on a sandwich, a book in her hand. Victoria Dallon was doing much the same, but in her hand instead was her smartphone. Carol Dallon was at work, meeting with another “high-profile client”. Mark Dallon was reclining on a chair in the living room, idly watching a sports game. The girls didn’t mind much. They were with each other, and even though they were both eating in silence, they were both reassured by each others’ presence.
> 
> That is, until they heard the banging coming from the closet door near the living room.
> 
> “Girls,” said their father brusquely, with an edge of tension, “will one of you go into my trophy case? There should be a football there. It’s in a case. It’s signed, but I don’t care. Get it to me as fast as humanly possible.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dad, do you hear that? That noise in the closet?” It was getting louder and more frequent as Victoria spoke.
> 
> “Girls. One of you. Trophy case. Football. Now.”
> 
> “Dad, I-”
> 
> “NOW, VICTORIA!” shouted Mark, actually turning to face them. Rage splayed across his features. Victoria flew through the hall to get the football as fast as she could. Amy was walking over to her father, wondering what could cause such a reaction when her sister arrived, carrying an old football. Victoria tossed it to her father, and as soon as Mark caught it, the banging stopped. Victoria slowly flew back to stand next to Amy, confused. Her father sat upright, staring at the closet door.
> 
> Neither of the girls had any clue whatsoever as to what was about to happen, but whatever it was, they could handle it. This was Brockton Bay. Victoria alone had fought the likes of Hookwolf hand to hand! There was no way they couldn’t solve this... noise closet thing. They were a superhero team. They were prepared.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> They were not prepared. They were prepared for practically every scenario, but a long-haired old-looking guy in a leather jacket holding a water bottle popping out of their closet was not in _any conceivable realm of possibility_. For him to then seemingly yell to the air, “I did not hit her! It’s not true! It’s bullshit! I did not hit her! I did not!”, throw a water bottle to the floor, and then acknowledge their dad with a simple “oh, hi, Mark,” was enough to make Victoria faint if for the sheer ridiculousness of this scenario alone.
> 
> Except she didn’t faint.
> 
> In fact, realized Victoria with rising panic, she couldn’t faint. She couldn’t move at all. Amy, in her peripheral vision, was similarly frozen, eyes filled with fear. To her complete and utter shock, her dad simply responded to the stranger with a casual, “Oh hey, Johnny, what’s up?”
> 
> And so it went for what felt like to Victoria the worst few minutes of her life. The two men talked as if they were old friends. Mark tried to give “Johnny” advice on how to deal with “Lisa”. Johnny then totally changed the subject to Mark. Her father made some thinly veiled hints that he was cheating with someone ( _WHAT!_ ), then began telling a story about a battered woman whose unfaithful escapades ended with her in a hospital on Guerrero Street ( _I’m 100% sure Amy’s never volunteered on a Guerrero Street._ ) and in response Johnny disturbingly laughed and said, “Ahaha! What a story, Mark!” At some point, Victoria could’ve sworn that she saw two massive... somethings, but she forgot soon after, focused on the scene in front of her.
> 
> Half the time, Johnny’s words were inconsistent with the movement of his lips, making him seem as if he was dubbed or being controlled by someone else. Was he a Master projection? The topic of conversation between them shifted constantly, and focused on no real subject. Still frozen, Victoria began to ponder the situation she was stuck in. The three of them were being Mastered, in their own home, by this unknown cape. But for what reason? The man seemed totally uninterested in her and Amy’s presence at all. Her father similarly hadn’t acknowledged them since Victoria had handed him the football.
> 
> Then, something happened. Johnny asked her father if something was bothering him. He responded that nothing was. Johnny, seemingly uncaring about anything up until that point, became increasingly hostile towards Mark out of nowhere. Johnny had latched onto the idea that her father was hiding something, and he avoided saying anything. Mark handed the football to Johnny, said that he’d talk to him later, and entered the closet. Johnny said, “well, whatever,” and flickered out of existence. The football landed on the ground.
> 
> As soon as he did, Victoria felt a figurative weight fall off of her. She and Amy quickly flew to the closet ( _wait, hold on, since when can Amy fly?_ ) and when they opened it, they only found old coats and board games. The sisters stared at each other.
> 
> “Ames?”
> 
> “Y-yeah, Vicky?” Her voice was shaky.
> 
> “Call the PRT. We need to find Dad.”
> 
> “O-ohkay.”
> 
> A moment of silence passed as Amy fished her phone out of her pocket. As she was about to make the call, Victoria spoke up.
> 
> “Ames?”
> 
> “Yeah, Vicky?”
> 
> “You’re flying.”
> 
> “Oh.”
> 
> While waiting for the PRT, the sisters realized that Amy had second triggered, and could now borrow parahuman abilities, like Victoria’s flight.
> 
> A few hours later, they got a call that someone had found their father sitting at a cafe, alone, after being asked by “a suspicious man” about his sex life. They flew to meet him.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> “Fucking sick fucks. Wish I could just kill Hookwolf for this shit. But I gotta ‘lay low,’ ‘pick my own fights,’ well, fuck you, too, Brian. Disgusting pieces of shit, fuck the E88.”
> 
> Rachel was grooming one of the dogs from the recent dogfighting bust, mumbling to herself, when she saw a sliver of movement behind her. From what she could see from her crouched position an old guy she’d never met stood next to Brutus. He had glasses on his forehead and a suit. He was holding a dozen red roses. To top it all off, he reminded her immensely of an old social worker she’d had. She snarled. The man reached towards Brutus, to pet him. Quickly, she shrieked, “Judas, Angelica, kill!” but the man was faster. Before any of them could really react, he pet Brutus, said, “Oh hi, doggie!” and flickered out of existence.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> When they arrived at the cafe, both Dallon girls ran over to hug their father, tears dripping down their faces.  
> “DAD! Where were you! We were worried sick, we thought that Johnny guy had kidnapped you!”  
> “Well, it’s very nice of you to care about me, but-”  
> Whatever Mark Dallon was about to say was interrupted by the untimely event of Johnny taking him by the arm and teleporting him to a location unknown to them.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> Dennis and Chris were in the simulation room, roleplaying an encounter with an unpowered criminal on a rooftop, when they suddenly lost control of their bodies.
> 
> The holographic criminal disappeared. The Wards froze, put away what they were doing, and moved into a position. Chris walked towards Dennis with a kind of swagger neither of them expected. Dennis was awkwardly pretending to dribble an invisible basketball. Chris was the first to say anything.
> 
> “Hey, Denny,” said Kid Win.
> 
> “Chris-R. I’ve been looking for you,” spoke Clockblocker.
> 
> “Yeah, sure you have. You have my money, right?” said Chris.
> 
> “Yeah. It’s coming. It’ll be here in a few minutes.” responded Dennis meekly.
> 
> From the console, an astounded Aegis was already halfway through making a call to begin Master/Stranger protocols. He was watching the scene with rapt attention. Dennis acting weak? Chris acting badass? Both of them referring to each other by slight variations of their real names? This was either a Master with impressive range (and strange application of power) or they had joined Improv Everywhere on their off days.
> 
> It only got weirder from then. Aegis watched as Kid Win threatened Clockblocker with his tinkertech pistol, only for a weird-looking vampire of a man and _is that Flashbang?_ to grab Kid Win. Flashbang took Chris’s pistol. As Carlos turned to check another view of the scene, he noticed two more women in the scene, a young freckled blonde chick who looked vaguely familiar and an older woman who he was sure he’d never seen before in his life.
> 
> The blonde screamed something as Flashbang and the weird guy hauled Kid Win away. Dennis was left alone in the room with the blonde and the older woman, all three of them crying and yelling about their (drug related?) issues.
> 
> Out of morbid curiosity, Carlos switched to the camera feed for right outside the simulation room. Flashbang was there, talking down a hysterical Chris. Flashbang seemed more sane than whatever was going on in the simulation room, so Aegis raised the volume for that camera.
> 
> Carlos could barely make out Chris saying something like, “...crazy? That man could’ve killed me! He Mastered me into giving you my pistol! And you’re telling me to just let him go!”
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s exactly why I’m telling you to let him go.” Flashbang responded. “He’s crazy. He’s been teleporting me around town all day, because he thinks I’m his best friend. Because I engaged with him. Do _not_ let him get attached to you. If he does, well, there goes your day.”
> 
> “But why you?”
> 
> “I think he said it’s because Mark Dallon sounds so close to Matt Damon.”
> 
> “ _What the actual fuck_ ,” whispered Kid Win.
> 
> “Speaking of, I’m on set.”
> 
> On the hallway camera, Flashbang seemed to instantly vanish. Carlos switched back to the simulation room, just in time to hear Flashbang say to the old lady, “Come on, stop, it was a mistake.”
> 
> The old lady retorted, “A mistake, that he takes drugs.”
> 
> The weird guy said, “Let’s go home.”
> 
> Flashbang said, “Come on, it’s clear.”
> 
> The old lady, incredulous, said, “What’s clear? I am going to call the police.”
> 
> The blonde said, “Mom, stop it was Denny’s mistake, just stop!”
> 
> Flashbang responded, “Let’s go,” taking the old lady with him. As soon as they exited the threshold of the room, they both sagged visibly. Carlos switched on the audio of the hallway camera to follow their conversation.
> 
> “How much longer do you think this will go on? My grandchildren will be worrying,” asked the old lady.
> 
> “I wish I knew, Claudette,” responded Flashbang.
> 
> As they stood there together, Johnny, Dennis, and the blonde exited the situation room. Once they did, all five were covered in containment foam, and four PRT officers read the blob their rights under Master/Stranger confinement. It didn’t actually matter, in the end. There were no people inside the blob of foam by the time the officer finished reading.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey, has anyone seen Lisa around?” asked Brian as he lay on the couch, flipping through news channels.
> 
> The headline on BBTV caught his eye: “MYSTERY CAPE MASTERING INDIVIDUALS FOR AMUSEMENT??”.
> 
> One of the suspected victims, a blonde girl as caught by a poor-quality security camera, looked very familiar.
> 
> Alec choked.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> From: [phaldimann@yamadapsych.com](mailto:phaldimann@yamadapsych.com)  
> To: [epiggot@prt.gov](mailto:epiggot@prt.gov)  
> Cc: [rcosta-brown@prt.gov](mailto:rcosta-brown@prt.gov), [jyamada@yamadapsych.com](mailto:jyamada@yamadapsych.com), [brandish@newwave.org](mailto:brandish@newwave.org)  
> Brockton Bay Office of Peter Haldimann  
> \-----------------------  
> Subject: Re: Re: Re: Master Attack in my Own Office  
> \-----------------------  
> Director Piggot,
> 
> This response is simply unacceptable. The cape who stole and Mastered me twice, is currently mastering one of your Wards and Flashbang and God knows how many other people, is being left alone to “get it out of his system”?
> 
> I don’t care what your Thinkers say about “runtime” and “production”. I don’t care that he’s predicted to disappear by next week for good. I want this man out of the Bay as soon as physically possible. Worst yet, I’ve been PRT affiliated long enough to know that nothing I say will change anything.
> 
> Unless an immediate drastic change in policy is imminent, for all intents and purposes, this is my two-week notice. I never want to see another cape again.
> 
> Peter.
> 
> P.S. Your Thinkers keep emailing me asking why he let me go and no-one else. Tell them I have no idea, but that I wish Steven the best.
> 
> \-----------------------  
> <hide quoted message>  
> \-----------------------  
> <hide quoted message>  
> \-----------------------  
> <hide quoted message>
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
> In one timeline, Coil closed his laptop and cleared his throat, addressing his gathered forces. “And that is the most recent piece of written correspondence I have about him. The cape, who the PRT has nicknamed ‘The Artist’ (due to the odd feedback Thinkers get around him), is rated as a very high Shaker/Master. As far as I know, he has never shown himself in the Bay before today. Even though he’s predicted to disappear shortly, he can still be extremely dangerous. My orders if you run into him, if at all possible, is to try to avoid contact. All reports indicate an instant freezing affect similar to Clockblocker’s when nearby to The Artist. However, should one of you find a way to capture him... he stole my Thinker. I want her back. Does anyone have any questions?”
> 
> Trickster raised his hand. Out of all the assembled mercenaries, powered and unpowered, the Travellers were the ones who looked most distinctly uncomfortable. Anyone would, at the fear of being instantly mastered in such a way, but the Travellers seemed to have a somewhat... unique response to him. Did they have history?
> 
> “Yes?” clipped Coil.
> 
> “Can, erm.” Trickster had to clear his throat before he continued to speak. “Can we see a picture of ‘The Artist’?
> 
> “Of course. I was just getting to that. As I mentioned earlier, here is the security camera footage from the Wards HQ.”
> 
> As the scene on the screen progressed, the other mercenaries seemed confused or slightly worried. The Travellers, in the meantime, seemed increasingly agitated, muttering variants of “No fucking way...” or “That’s not fucking possible.” After some time, Coil’s impatience got to him, and he paused the video.
> 
> “Travellers. Anything to share?” asked Coil. His forceful curiosity was palpable through his bodysuit.
> 
> “Yeah. Yeah, I do, Coil,” said Ballistic as he stood up. “You said in our deal that we’d be protected. You said that you’d get a cure for Noelle and send us home as soon as possible, in exchange for grunt work here and there. You said we wouldn’t be forced to fight any S-class threats unless we wanted to. You _said_ ,” yelled Ballistic, as he slammed his hand on the table, “that we’d be protected from the scariest motherfuckers out there. Then how, _how_ , can Brockton Bay be called _safe_ in the slightest if **Tommy _motherfucking_ Wiseau **has fucking _superpowers_?”
> 
> Coil collapsed that timeline, sweating. He leaned back in his armchair, miles and miles safely away from Brockton Bay. He didn’t have any intention of returning anytime soon.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> Canon(?) Epilogue:
> 
>  
> 
> “Contessa, what are you doing?”
> 
> James had seen Contessa’s paths take her strange places before, but this a new height of odd. Contessa was hunched over a laptop with a pink USB sticking out of it. A video editing program was open. She was scraping together bits and pieces from various cell phone cameras, security cameras, and professional stock footage of the Bay, her fingers flying to precisely the right keys to finish the operation as efficiently as possible. From where James stood, it seemed she had been working on editing... whatever this was for quite some time. It was long.
> 
> “Director of Photography Todd Barron,” responded Contessa.
> 
> “Excuse me?”
> 
> She turned around, and made eye contact with him. Her eyes were bloodshot.
> 
> “Executive Producer Tommy Wiseau,” she stated, plainly.
> 
> Of course. For all the times for Contessa to snap it had to be right now.
> 
> “Well, listen, there’s a bit of a situation in-” started James, but he was shushed by Contessa.
> 
> “Listen,” she said, intensely.
> 
> She hit “play” on the laptop. James stood, frozen in shock and awe as the next one hour and thirty-nine minutes passed by what felt like simultaneously like only a second but also as if he had just spent years of his life watching Contessa’s... film.
> 
> “Why did you make this?” he said, barely a whisper, after it was done. James had never been so confused by anything at all. The movie was barely coherent, all the actors clearly not giving it their all. The main lead was ill-cast, slurring his words. The world of the film simultaneously thought the lead was the most important and most hated person in the universe. And to top it all off, there were framed pictures of plastic spoons in the main room of the set. James tried to puzzle it out, but there was no plausible reason for Contessa to make this movie.
> 
> “This was the only way forward,” she responded.
> 
> “What, with your current path?” asked James.
> 
> “No,” she stated.
> 
> “No?”
> 
> “All paths led to this film. No other paths existed.”
> 
> James leaned back, numb. If someone could manipulate her power like this... “Odd.”
> 
> “Very much so.”
> 
> “Are the other paths back now that the movie’s finished?”
> 
> “Yes,” she stated. She snapped to attention and pulled out the USB stick from the laptop. “I must go. I have lost time. Door to Brockton Bay General.”
> 
> As she stepped through, James took another look at the movie. There was something almost humorous about how misguided the protagonist was. He was clueless in almost all social situations. His baffling life choices made for great comedic material, yet the movie was presented as a drama. James activated his Thinker powers during his second watch-through of the film. It was... beautiful. A mathematical masterpiece in awful writing, acting, cinematography, and editing. Whatever compelled Contessa to make this film truly was an artist, even if the finished product looks on the outside like a pile of... yeah, maybe this movie shouldn’t be released.
> 
> As he got to the credits, James noticed one name out of place - one singular thing that didn’t flow with the formulas governing the rest of the film. “SPECIAL THANKS TO TAYLOR HEBERT & CONTESSA”. Contessa he knew of. But who was Taylor Hebert?
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> Taylor Hebert was having the best day of her life. After waking up in the hospital, she was struck by inspiration - _my life story would make a great movie_. There were some flaws immediately noticeable though. She’d need to change the names around, obfuscate a bit. Instead of the betrayal of a friend, it’d be the betrayal of a lover. Instead of Emma being a redhead, she’d be a blonde named Lisa. It didn’t matter that she’d never acted a day before, Taylor was certain in her ability to perform in this. Taylor would play the main character, of course. But she couldn’t be named Taylor. That’d be too obvious. Ooh! What if she swapped the gender of the main character, made him a little older... but he has to keep the hair, of course. Maybe name him Tommy? Or Johnny! Yeah! Taylor would be the hero in the story! She’d finally be a hero, and the movie would be famous worldwide! This idea was sounding better and better.
> 
> Once the script was finished in her head, she needed a means to arrange it all. _People get things through prayer, right? If I just meditate on my bed for a little..._ And after only a few seconds of “ohm”ing and crossing her legs, a lady with a hat came from thin air, and off they went!
> 
> They travelled all around, touching up Taylor’s appearance for the movie and rigging up cameras to film the scenes. Taylor didn’t worry about a casting call, the hat lady said that Taylor’d be able to take care of it. And it worked great! Everyone except that first guy with the curly hair was really into it, and went along with her vision with no complaints. She met all sorts of cool people! Heroes! Real heroes, like Flashbang and Clockblocker and Kid Win! And after only one full day of shooting, Taylor had a copy of the movie on a pink USB in her hand, and every actor from the movie was back safely at home. Late that night, she climbed back into her hospital bed before anyone had noticed. Well, Hat Lady had promised no one would notice. And as she plugged the USB in to the TV across the wall from her bed, she watched her masterpiece come to life.
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
> “Actually on second thought maybe this was a mistake,” grimaced Taylor, as the credits rolled. She quietly buried the USB deep in the room’s trash can.


End file.
